


Like You a Latte

by idmakeitbehave



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Barista!Reader, Coffee Shops, F/F, First Meetings, Fluff, Meet-Cute, pining and flirting and obliviousness and all that cute stuff, we all love penelope garcia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27112024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idmakeitbehave/pseuds/idmakeitbehave
Summary: The cutest, most colorfully dressed woman you've ever seen walks into your coffee shop one morning and you areimmediatelysmitten.It's definitely one-sided... right?
Relationships: Penelope Garcia/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 136





	Like You a Latte

**Author's Note:**

> The coffee shop Penelope meet-cute we all deserve, complete with ridiculous pun

_I’ve just seen a face._

It’s not even seven in the morning, far too early for the song that’s suddenly in your head, the few lines you can remember playing on a loop. But there it is. You’ve just seen a face. A beautiful, beaming face with a smile much too wide for the current hour.

A face that is waiting for you to make her the coffee she ordered. You try to shake yourself out of your stupor, turning towards the espresso machine. _You moron._ Pretty girls always make you act like a bumbling idiot, always make you suddenly forget how to speak.

It doesn’t help that this particular pretty girl looks like actual sunshine personified. She sticks out like a sore thumb amongst all of the posh and polished business professionals who look like they might actually sleep in their three piece suits. It takes everything in you to look away from her hot pink dress dotted with butterflies, her cat eye glasses the same brilliant shade.

You’ve changed your mind. She’s _brighter_ than the sun.

When you finally hand her her coffee, you try not to think about it too hard when her hand brushes yours. You’re being ridiculous. She shoots you another luminous smile as she says thanks, her pigtails bouncing as she walks away.

You try not to stare, you really do, but you can’t help yourself. Even her high heels are hot pink.

You briefly battle that same conundrum that occurs every time you see a pretty girl. Do you want to _be_ her or be _with_ her?

This time, the conundrum resolves itself fairly quickly. It’s the latter. Definitely the latter.

You’re being _beyond_ ridiculous. You’ll probably never see her again.

You really, truly hope that you’re wrong.

*

It takes an entire week, but it happens- you’re proven wrong. You’re not sure you’ve ever been more overjoyed to be wrong.

She’s back. You don’t even know this stranger’s name, but you can’t help but smile at her as she enters the tiny coffee shop. The color of the day is blue, apparently. Blue dress, blue glasses, and of course, blue heels. She’s very talented, you think, tottering around on those heels all day. It makes you wonder what she does for work, why she dresses like this, what’s hiding beneath her rainbow exterior.

 _Jesus._ You’re getting much too ahead of yourself. You don’t know her name, don’t even know if she’s into women, don’t even know if she knows that you exist.

Well. At the very least you can fix that first one.

She’s just given you her order- something different than the last time, but still just as sweet- when you finally go for it. Sharpie in hand, poised over the cup, you ask, “Name?”

It’s not very eloquent, but it’ll get the job done.

“Oh!” she says, yet another lovely smile on her face. “Penelope.”

You nod as you scrawl it onto the cup. “Penelope.”

It fits- a bright, sunshiny type of a name. You’ve never met anyone else named Penelope. You’re glad that it was her.

When you finish making her coffee, you call out her name despite the fact that there’s barely anyone else in the coffee shop. Any excuse to say it out loud.

She accepts it with a grin. “Thank you, Y/N. Have the _most_ excellent day!”

You don’t even have time to process her words, to form a coherent response, before she’s out the door once more. It takes you longer than you care to admit to realize that you’re wearing your nametag. _That’s_ how she knew your name.

It’s not much, but it feels like quite a lot.

*

You don’t want to admit it to yourself, but every time the bell above the door rings, your heart jumps a little. And every time she doesn’t walk through the door, you swallow the irrational disappointment that arises.

You’re in the middle of convincing yourself, yet again, that you’re being absurd when the bell rings once more. The carefully crafted customer service smile graces your face as you turn towards the counter.

It’s her. Your fake, over-cheery grin melts away and turns into a genuine one.

“Hi Penelope, good morning!” you dare to say, ignoring the voice in your head that’s screaming at you for being an awkward, useless human being. You can do this. She’s just a person.

Just a luminescent, sparkling person.

The way her eyes light up at your greeting makes it all worth it. “Hi Y/N! How are things?”

Perfect now. You bite back the remark, instead saying something routine, something along the lines of ‘Pretty good, how about you?’ before taking her order. You forget what you said almost as soon as you say it. _Useless._

There’s almost no one else in the cafe, and you find yourself making small talk with her as you fix the coffee. It’s surprisingly easy once you get past your nerves, once you stop feeling like you’re going to turn into a puddle every time she grins.

She’s incredibly personable and eager to chat with you. Given her sunny exterior, maybe you should have expected as much.

She’s probably like this with everyone, you convince yourself. There’s no other explanation.

Whatever the case may be, you don’t really care. All you want to do is keep talking to her. The two of you talk about nothing in particular, just little things. The weather, the grumpy businessmen who stalk out of the shop, an upcoming film.

You draw a little smiley face next to her name before handing the cup to her. The conversation is over much too soon for your liking, but you can only take so long to make one cup of coffee before your desperation is apparent.

She’s about to leave, but you just can’t let it end. “I love your dress, by the way!” you practically shout, motioning to her fire engine red outfit.

“Aw, thank you,” she replies easily. “I was just thinking about how much I loved your earrings.”

Your hand reaches for the earring in question without thinking. They’re some of your favorites- rubber ducks. You may just never take them off now.

You mumble your thanks as she leaves, waving like a fool. The blush is creeping up your cheeks and you can feel the heat in your face. She was just being nice, you remind yourself. It’s like the drunk-woman-in-bathroom rule: meeting in a filthy bar bathroom at an ungodly hour of the night, squealing at each other’s outfits and lavishing one another with compliments before never seeing them again. Maybe a little strange, but heartwarming nonetheless.

The thought makes you wonder what Penelope would be like drunk, what the two of you would do together on a night out. If she likes karaoke, what kind of drinks she might enjoy. If she would let you hold her hand.

Maybe one day you’ll gather up the nerve to find out.

*

Seeing Penelope is without a doubt the best part of your day.

She comes in more often now, almost every single weekday. You try not to read too far into it, convincing yourself that she must just really like the coffee.

You make a decent cup of coffee, but it’s not _that_ good.

Today’s color is purple. It’s always been your favorite color, but you’ve never been quite so enamored as you are right now, staring at this woman dressed in purple from head to toe.

The two of you chat as you make her coffee, your conversations continuing even as you help the other customers. It’s easy now.

You still feel the little butterflies in your stomach every time she smiles at you, but she somehow puts you at ease at the same time. It almost feels like you’ve known her forever. The thought is ridiculous, but it serves to warm you from the inside out.

“What do you do for work?” you ask as you clean out the coffeepot. Penelope’s leaning against the counter, unabashedly lingering despite the fact that you long ago finished making her drink.

You’d like this job a lot more if she was always leaning against that counter.

When she tells you that she works for the FBI, your jaw drops. Your shock must be evident across your face, because she giggles at you. _Giggles._ It’s so endearing that you want her to do it again immediately.

“I’m not an agent, I’m more of the resident computer nerd,” she rushes to explain. “I’m the tech analyst for the BAU. Behavioral Analysis Unit. I don’t do the icky, gross stuff.”

“That’s incredible,” you say. The next sentence is out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. “You’re incredible.”

There’s a pause as she blinks at you. Then she’s laughing and telling you that it’s no big deal. The conversation continues, the moment dissipating.

You briefly allow yourself to hope that you’re not imagining the blush that had settled on her face at your words.

*

It continues like this.

First it’s weeks, then months.

Months of Penelope coming into the store, brightening your day each and every time she enters. Usually it’s the morning, but sometimes she comes in during lunch time instead. Every once in a while, she’ll come in late, closer to closing. Those are the days that you know she’s in the middle of a tough case, preparing herself for yet another endless night spent at work.

You make the heart on top of her latte extra big on those days. She probably doesn’t notice, but you keep doing it anyway.

The two of you have been talking more and more, slowly moving past the little things. Still, you’re confined to the few minutes that she’s there in the cafe. There’s only so long she can linger before she has to go to work.

You’re about to work up the nerve to ask her if she wants to hang out, to see each other outside of the coffee shop. Maybe ‘hang out’ isn’t exactly the right phrase, but you’re struggling to figure out how to word it. You suppose you could just ask her on a date, but could you really? Baby steps. Hang out first, maybe date later.

Today’s the day. You’re going to do it. What’s there to lose? At the very least, she’ll want to be your friend.

Probably.

The bell above the door rings, and you can spy her blonde curls through the glass. The pounding in your heart is difficult to ignore as you smile widely, anticipating her entrance.

And then your smile drops.

She’s not alone.

There’s a man walking beside her. More than that, his arm is around her shoulders as she stares up at him, eyelashes fluttering. He starts to laugh at something she’s saying, and the pang of jealousy you feel is _impossible_ to ignore.

Of course she’s seeing someone. And of course he’s nearly as beautiful as she is.

Damn it.

You plaster on your customer service smile. It feels wrong, like it doesn’t belong there. If Penelope notices, she doesn’t say a word.

“Hi Y/N!” she says, that same brilliant grin on her face.

You can’t help it. You smile back, a real, genuine one, if only for a moment. She just has that effect on you.

“Hey, Pen.” You nod, your eyes flickering to the man next to her. That she does notice.

Her own eyes widen, her grin somehow growing even bigger. Of course. “Oh, I’m so rude! This is my Chocolate Thunder, Derek.”

The nickname. The goddamn _nickname._ Your heart hurts even more.

You’re being ridiculous. You barely know her. At least, that’s what you try to convince yourself. “Nice to meet you, Derek,” you finally say.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he replies with a wink. “Baby Girl over here won’t stop talking about this place.”

Now, that? That’s a lot to unpack. Your mind is racing. He’s heard of you? Does she talk about you? Or just about the coffee shop? What does it _mean_? And then another pang hits you as you process the second nickname. Baby Girl.

It’s a stupid nickname. Not what you would choose to call her. Sunshine, angel, maybe honey.

You’re just being bitter. They’re a perfectly lovely couple.

Emphasis on perfect.

You chat with them as you prepare their coffees, trying your best not to stare. This unexpected development doesn’t stop you from drawing a little smile next to Penelope’s name, however. Not quite the heart you had been prepared to draw, but it would have to do.

It hurts to admit it, but Derek’s an entire sweetheart. You can see why Penelope loves him so much.

You wave goodbye to them as they leave. The door shuts and only then do you allow the smile you’d carefully plastered on to fall.

It was too good to be true.

*

Penelope’s alone the next time she comes in.

You’re relieved, but then you remind yourself that it doesn’t mean anything. It feels a little like a high school heartbreak, your heart crushed by something that didn’t even really happen, something that didn’t even have a chance to get off the ground.

It might not be anything, but it still hurts. Just a little.

Today’s color is turquoise. “Good morning, Y/N!” she sing-songs, as she does.

Now it hurts more.

“Morning, Penelope,” you say as casually as you can muster. Your tone is off, even you can tell.

She notices. Of course she does. “Everything alright?”

You nod much too quickly for it to be natural. “Oh yeah, absolutely fine. Did your boyfriend like his coffee yesterday?”

“What?” The shock in her voice makes you look up, almost dropping the change you had been about to hand her. “Oh, no, Derek’s not my boyfriend! He’s like my absolute bestie, but not my boyfriend. Not at all.”

Your heart rises from where it’s been sulking. Just a little.

“Oh, I just- I just thought-” you motion vaguely, not quite sure how to phrase it. The arm around the shoulder, the cute little nicknames. It certainly wasn’t a wild jump for you to make.

However, you are very glad that you’re wrong.

“I know, I know,” she says in a rush. “We’re weird. We’re just like that. I don’t know, it’s kind of always been like that for us. I love him, but not like- like in-love-love you know?”

She’s over-explaining it and she looks a bit flustered.

You try _really_ hard not to read too much into it, but this time you finally dare to draw a heart next to her name.

It’s not much, but it’s a step.

*

It’s been a week and a half. Another week and a half of chatting with Penelope and letting your mind wander. You imagine things. Imagine what you would do on a date with her, how you would braid her hair if she let you, even what it would be like to kiss her.

And yet again, you are getting far too ahead of yourself. You still have yet to gather the courage to ask her out. Out. You don’t know if you should clarify that you want it to be a date or if you should just leave it vague and hope for the best. Vague seems easier to start with, but also like it will probably end up hurting a lot more.

God, you had been so close to just doing it and then she had brought Derek in. All of your confidence was squashed, even if it had turned out to be nothing.

You think back to the first morning you saw her. Four months. Four months ago she walked in and you’ve been smitten ever since. And you still haven’t seen her outside of this damn coffee shop.

Enough, you think. You’ve seen enough rom-coms to know what comes next.

The following morning when she comes in, you’re ready. You don’t say anything or do anything particularly different. Just have another lovely conversation with the lovely Penelope. It’s still the best part of your day.

Jesus, you’ve got it _bad._

You almost back out, but you can’t. When she’s not looking, you do it. You scrawl your phone number on the coffee cup, next to a little heart.

It’s as brave as you can be for the time being.

She doesn’t notice. She doesn’t see what you’ve written or even glance down at the cup. Work is calling and you know she’s in a hurry to get back.

You watch her walk out the door, completely unaware of the phone number in her hands.

Now, you finally allow yourself to panic.

*

That same evening, you’re closing up the shop by yourself. You’re almost done. Just need to sweep the floor, and then you can go home and sulk in peace.

Penelope never called you and a million reasons run through your head. They include: she didn’t see the number and just threw the cup away; she saw it and didn’t know how to let you down gently; and she saw it and she _hates_ you. Those are just some of the top contenders.

You’ve finally settled on ‘she hates you’ when the bell above the door chimes. “Sorry,” you say without turning around. “We’re closed.”

“It’s me.” Penelope. Her voice is soft, and you nearly let go of the broom in your hands. Those million reasons playing in the back of your mind get even louder.

“Oh hi, Pen,” you say, aiming for an air of casualness and failing drastically. Your nerves give you away.

She’s holding a coffee cup. The same coffee cup from almost ten hours ago. Your heart flutters, but you try to tell it to shut up. It doesn’t mean anything.

You go to speak at the same time as she does, both of you saying, “I’m sorry.”

Penelope blinks at you. “Wait, why are _you_ sorry?”

God, this is so awkward. “I- I don’t really know?” you admit. “I guess I’m sorry for giving you my number in such a weird way. I mean, I don’t even know if you’re, um, if you like me like- like that or if you even want to be my friend or- wait. Why are _you_ sorry?”

The smile she gives you is blinding. You can’t look away as she starts to speak. “I was just going to say that I’m sorry I didn’t call you, silly! Work was crazy busy. But I really wanted to.”

Now it’s your turn to stare at her. “You wanted to?”

She gives you this look that somehow reads that she thinks you’re both adorable and ridiculously oblivious. “Well yeah. I was kind of waiting for you to make a move, Y/N. I would have done it, but I don’t know, I didn’t know if you were just being nice. Just doing your job and all.”

Your jaw drops, and the broom finally falls from your hands. “Wait. You _like_ me?” It feels like you’re in middle school even as you say it, but you just need to confirm.

She grins at you again, raising an eyebrow. “I can’t believe you didn’t know. I was like flirting with you the whole time. I thought maybe you didn’t like me.”

“No way!” Your eyes widen. “ _I_ was flirting with _you_ the whole time.”

The two of you are staring at each other and there’s a beat of silence before you both break out into laughter. The tiny little cafe is filled with nothing but the sound of your giggles and the light from Penelope’s smile. It’s absolutely perfect.

You step out from around the counter and you do what you’ve been wanting to do for the last four months. You take her hand in yours. She laces your fingers together and it’s better than you could have even imagined.

Your laughter dies out as you stare at her again. She’s so much closer to you than she’s ever been. Close enough to-

It’s like she’s read your mind, because she leans in, her eyes flickering to your lips. You want to kiss her. You want to so very badly.

She squeezes your hand and it’s the only encouragement you need. You press a soft, light kiss to her lips, your hand reaching up and entangling in her hair.

You can feel her smiling against your mouth before she kisses you back. That radiant, beautiful smile of hers. The kiss doesn’t last for nearly as long as you would like, in all honesty, but it feels like the start of something.

Something brilliant.

When she pulls away from you, her hand reaches for yours once more. “Do you want to go out?” Penelope breathes out, giggling almost nervously. “Like on a date?”

_I’ve just seen a face._

Four months ago, on a random Tuesday morning, someone spectacular walked into your coffee shop. Someone you had never seen coming.

Of all the people you’ve seen come and go through those doors throughout the years, you are so very thankful that it was her.

You’ve never nodded with more certainty. “Yes. Anywhere. Anywhere but here. I’m a little sick of the coffee.”

Her arm goes around your shoulder, pulling you towards her and into what is probably the best hug of your life. When she lets go, she presses a kiss to your cheek and you can’t help but blush.

“Hm, I don’t know…” she says with a laugh. “They do have a pretty cute barista.”

It feels like the start of something brighter than the sun.


End file.
